The Logic of Love
by Laura Schiller
Summary: Ambassador T'Pol advises her young intern Sarek about the complications of human culture.


The Logic of Love

By Laura Schiller

Based on: _Star Trek: Enterprise_

Copyright: Paramount

/

The Vulcan Embassy in San Francisco possessed a beautiful rock garden in one of its inner courtyards. With so many chaotic humans nearby, the architects had reasoned, those who worked there would need it to calm their minds. On a sunny day, Sol's light caught tiny sparkles in the sand, which was raked into new patterns every week, intricate symmetrical swirls like a nautilus shell or the opening of a wormhole. On a cloudy day, the shadows of the larger rocks covered the sand, and these were symmetrical as well ... almost. It was the breaks in the pattern that made it beautiful. One had to sit and contemplate it in silence for some time to understand.

It was exceedingly rare to hear someone laugh in front of it.

Ambassador T'Pol rounded the corner to find a young man and woman sitting on the bench in front of the glass that separated viewers from the garden. The woman who had laughed was human, and a stranger. The man was Sarek, T'Pol's new intern, who had arrived from Vulcan only two weeks ago. His features were composed, but he was sitting unusually close to his companion, and when T'Pol approached, he shot to his feet. The human woman copied him, tucking her smile away behind her eyes.

"Miss Grayson," he said, in somewhat awkward English. "This is Ambassador T'Pol. Madame, may I present Miss Amanda Grayson, my English teacher? I show her – I amshowing her – the garden."

Miss Grayson was a pleasant-looking girl in her mid-twenties, with blue eyes, dark hair tied back in a sleek bun, and a blue sundress that was casual and elegant at the same time. Sarek, who was not much older by Vulcan standards, looked oddly boyish next to her with his bowl cut and voluminous brown robes.

"It's beautiful," said Miss Grayson, and switching to Vulcan, she added with a _ta'al_ and a bow: "Your service honors us, Ambassador."

"I am pleased to meet you," T'Pol replied in English, returning the ta'al. "Did you not study Earth languages before coming here, Mr. Sarek?"

The intern, not yet used to his superior's sense of humor, looked chastened. "Languages are not my ... strong point. I find it best to learn from a native speaker."

"Indeed," said T'Pol. "It is prudent of you, then, to take steps to improve your skills and integrate with our allies. I often tell my younger colleagues," she added to Miss Grayson, "That if they mean to accomplish anything on Earth, they will never do it by isolating themselves in this building."

Miss Grayson smiled at Sarek, who stood tall and tucked his hands into his long sleeves.

"He's making excellent progress," Miss Grayson added. Warm admiration shone in her eyes as she looked up at her student.

"I have an excellent teacher," said Sarek earnestly.

Miss Grayson blushed, tucked a stray strand of hair behind her ear, and glanced over at T'Pol like a guilty schoolgirl. T'Pol found this amusing; did the younger woman really expect to be judged for showing pleasure at an honest compliment?

"I should, um ... I should leave you to your work. You must have a lot of political business to get through. Will I see you tomorrow, Sa – Mr. Sarek? At the usual time?"

"Of course - Miss Grayson," said Sarek, as if his commitment to his English lessons were so self-evident it did not need to be mentioned. The pause before the honorific was so short, a human might not have noticed it, but T'Pol did. She would not be surprised if they were already on given-name terms.

The human smiled again and saluted them both with another _ta'al, _two actions that blended together with surprising grace. After the usual goodbyes, she walked away down the hall, her skirt swaying slightly and her sandals clicking on the tiles. Sarek did not take his eyes off her until she was out of sight.

"_T'sai_," he said in hushed and formal Vulcan, "May I speak to you in private?"

"Follow me."

T'Pol's office was almost as unconventional by Vulcan standards as she was. Never untidy, of course - she could not abide that - but she had more souvenirs on display than most of her colleagues put together. A yellow water polo ball sat in a corner, a vintage woman's purse from the 1950's had a place of honor on a bookshelf, an IDIC pendant hung from a corner of her computer, and framed photographs lined her desk. On his first day at work, Sarek had had the impertinence to ask if she ever found all those objects distracting. She had silenced him with a single look.

"Ambassador ... " The intern hovered in front of her desk, hands clasped in front of him, as she settled down in her chair. "I am facing a problem of a confidential nature, and I would be most grateful for any advice you have to offer."

"If it is personal, had you not better ask your mother?"

"As First Minister, she has her constituency to think about. If I take the step I am considering, she cannot approve it publicly or she will lose support among the conservatives."

It was impossible to tell if he resented or admired his mother for being so politically-minded; knowing T'Pau, it was probably both.

"What step are you considering that would cause so much controversy?"

"I intend to offer _kunat'solik_ to Amanda Grayson."

T'Pol should have expected something like this. Outbursts of unpredictable behavior were a risk you took when hiring a divorcee, especially one whose next pon farr was approaching with no prospect of a new partner. The scandal of it had trailed him all the way from Vulcan, but T'Pol didn't care. If anything, being a divorcee herself had made her all the more determined to mentor the young man.

T'Pau had even warned her in her last message. _Please watch over my son_, she had written. _He has not been himself since Solaris left and took little Sybok with her. He is liable to do something rash. He takes after me in that respect. _

Still, proposing marriage to an alien woman he had known for only two weeks was a whole new level of rashness.

"And what are your motives for such a choice?"

Sarek plunged into a list of reasons why it was logical for Earth and Vulcan to cement their alliance though intermarriages and even interbreeding. (T'Pol very carefully did not look at her IDIC pendant, which had hung over a baby's crib for no more than three days.) He gestured with his thin hands as he spoke, all but crackling with energy, determined to achieve something no Vulcan politician had ever done before, to make his mark on history, and (though he would never say this out loud) to finally get out from under the shadow of his legendary mother.

T'Pol agreed with him, she really did. But the more he used words like _experiment_ and _hybridization_ and _assimilate_, the more concerned she became for that polite young woman who had admired the rock garden.

"Do you love her?" she asked in English, interrupting him in mid-sentence.

"I beg your pardon?" Sarek looked - as her human friends might have said - poleaxed. Hearing one of his own compatriots sound so human was too much for even his control. He would have to get used to it, she thought wryly. The older she got, the more satisfying it became to surprise the young.

"You asked for my advice," she said. "So here it is. If you do not love her, she will sense it, and none of your logic will convince her. Furthermore, if you speak to her as you have spoken to me today, she will almost certainly show you the door."

Sarek made a visible effort to swallow an angry reply. T'Pol was willing to bet that no one had ever shown the First Minister's son the door in all his life; it might even be good for him. He calmed himself, however, and said with a pointed lack of expression: "Love is an emotion."

"Not necessarily." T'Pol's gaze was drawn to one of the photographs on her desk. It showed the bridge officers of the Enterprise-NX on her first launch, her younger self standing with Captain Archer and Commander Tucker. She thought of pecan pie, neuropressure by candlelight, a shared blanket on a cold stone floor, trembling hands clasped around a bloody towel, the smooth fur of a dog, a shared silence beside an empty crib, an embrace in a private antechamber before one of the greatest moments in the Alpha Quadrant's history ...

"Humans can convey a great deal more with that word than most offworlders understand. Let me ask you this: how much would you sacrifice for Miss Grayson's sake?"

"_T'sai_?"

"If none of your plans succeeded, if people turned against you, if your reputations and even your lives were put at risk, would you still stay with her? Conversely, if she were suffering in her life with you and wanted you to let her go, would you do it? Could you put her first, before your clan, your career and even yourself, for the rest of your lives - keeping in mind the fact that her life will be much shorter than yours?"

She took a deep breath and pressed her fingertips together. Her voice had risen. The walls in her office were designed to be soundproof, but one could never be too careful. She recited passages from the Kir'Shara inside her head until she could meet her intern's eyes.

Sarek had tactfully turned his back and was standing by the window. "I do not know," he said.

"Think carefully before you ask her ... but if you do, know that I will support you, whatever your mother says."

"Thank you." He turned around and fixed her with a searching gaze from beneath his winged eyebrows. It made her uncomfortable, as if he saw more than she wanted him to see. "Have you ever loved someone?"

She drew herself up and gave him her most forbidding look. "If you think I would ever allow a conflict of interest to affect my duty, you are mistaken."

"That was not my question."

"You have reports to file, Mr. Sarek."

He quirked a conspiratorial eyebrow at her before bowing himself out. With him gone, there was no one to see her pick up the photograph of the Enterprise crew and whisper something in an unsteady blend of Vulcan and English that would have confirmed his wildest speculations:

"You should see this, _t'hy'la_."

Her window overlooked the rock garden. The sky had clouded over and a strong wind had disturbed the pattern in the sand, but the rocks still stood, solid as the Forge itself. A small touch of green and yellow, however, made her narrow her eyes and look more closely. It was a dandelion, a single hardy plant growing among lifeless surroundings.

It was blooming.


End file.
